Disarm
by Behind These Mako Eyes
Summary: Altair's got an apprentice, saved from a mad doctor and taught how to be an assassin. When the teen's life becomes a downward spiraling aparatus years after the time with the doctor, Altair finds that he is the only one who can save him from nothingness.
1. Prolouge

"No, mama," the child sobbed into the red-stained hair. "Mama..." He cried for days, even when the guards of the facility would beat him to silence him. He didn't stop crying. Not even when that hooded man set everyone free.

The man, coming to check the building one last time for survivors, strode up to the boy. He sneered under his hood with disgust. The boy, only about eleven or twelve, was clutching a severed head. His mothers, the assassin assumed.

"Drop the head, get up."

"But.." the boy's murky green eyes connected with the man's sharp silver eyes, "the doctor..he sai-"

"The doctor lied." He hissed sharply, silencing the preteen. "Now get up." He scanned said preteen quickly. His dark hair was greasy and matted, tanned skin covered in scars and marks, his frame resembled that of a skeleton and his right leg was broken obviously at the knee and thigh. He soon wondered if the boy would be able to get up at all.

"L-lied?" He gasped softly, fingers curling in his mother's hair in anguish, "oh, mama.." he began to cry again.

"Silence! Now drop that useless skull and get up!" The older Arabian snarled. The boy hiccupped, attempting to silence himself and he reluctantly let the head go. It rolled and he immediately followed it. It came to the assassin and he wasted no time in crushing the skull with his foot.

"Mama!"

"This is not your mother, your mother is _gone_." He growled, gesturing to the bones, blood, teeth and brains under his boot, "do you want to destroy the one responsible? Get to your feet. Now."

This seemed to sink into the boy and, with great pain, he stood finally.

"Come with me," the assassin ordered sharply, "we are going to repair your leg, then you will learn under me." He began to walk away. The preteen let out a warbled yelp of agony and clutched his leg. The man did not stop.

"Wait! Please!"

"The world will not wait for you, boy." He replied coldly. The young Arabian began to chase after this man with soft sobs and painful gasps, a wave of hope washing over him.

X

The two Arabians sat on the wagon as it made it's way to Damascus. The man had paid a doctor and a tailor, one to repair and design a brace for the boy's leg and the other to give him robes similar to his own.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Kahleem." He replied softly, "what's your name?"

"Altair Ibn La-Ahad, Son of None."

The name registered in Kahleem's mind and he looked at the fellow Arabian beside him. "From Masyaf?"

"The guards talk much of me, I know this."

Kahleem nodded under his hood, settling back against a crate. Altair followed suit, resting against a crate of his own. He began to review his battle plan subconsiciously, mapping out where he needed to go and why. Soon, the assassin began to wonder which methods he would use to train this boy.

Altair glanced over at the boy, catching the thinking expression on his face. He let out a sigh and looked heavenward. He would make this boy a powerful assassin one day.


	2. That Kid

"You were sloppy." Altair growled at the teen before him. "Your leg made too much noise, you know to compensate for it." Kahleem didn't dare to meet the furious silver storms of the master.

"Yes master."

"All I am thankful for is that you got the job done," he spat, "but now the guards will be looking for you. What will you do?"

"Get the citizens on my side." Kahleem replied quietly, keeping his murky green eyes on his master's boots. He tried to remember just where the helpless citizens of Damascus resided.

"Good." Altair pointed at the door, "now go. Any other slip-ups and you will be punished."

Kahleem dipped his head and made his way out, leaving the Bureau. He heard the amused chuckle of the estabishment's head. He stood on the roof, pulling his cowl further over his face to hide his embarassed flush with the shadow. The teen pressed his fingers into his knee, wincing at the audible crack it made.

He climbed down, walking with a group of scholars to blend easily. The differences between he and the grown men was a slight height difference and his gait. He walked on a ruined leg, a broken knee, hardly connected bones.

"Someone help me, please!" An elderly woman shrieked. Kahleem began to make his way over, flexing his wrist in anticipation.

"Walk away, boy!" A guard shoved him, "this isn't any of your business!"

"Oh it's not?" He swiftly shoved his unsheathed blade through the man's neck and twisted, pulling it out. The blood sprinkled over him and the other guards were quickly brought to attention.

"Get him!" One shouted, bringing out a sword. Kahleem smirked, blood thirst and agression rising in him. The skilled teen sent two more guards to the afterlife with his blade, blood had sprayed along his robes and was dripping off of his weapon. He began to approach the woman, only to be bludgeoned with some heavy weapon. The apprentice now struggled to get up again.

"Not such hot stuff now, are you?" A man chuckled, making Kahleem look up to watch the man swing again. He only coughed and grunted when he was struck a second time, instead of a third strike, he gripped the end of the weapon. Gracefully, the younger Arabian threw himself at the man, heels shoving the guard's nose up into his forehead, effectively breaking his face.

"I am, actually." He stood over the man as he fell, then bent a little. "You should be careful who you pick fights with." With the last statement, he shoved his blade through the man's eye and recoiled. Then, did he come to the woman.

"Young man, are you alright?"

"Do not worry, ma'am." He smiled gently. "I came to see if you were alright."

"You are a hero," she said and took his hands, "I'll be sure to tell my husband and sons of your bravery!" They talked for minutes before Kahleem bowed his head respectfully and began walking onward. He soon walked into a shaded alley and sat on some crates.

"Fuck," he cursed, his hands each occupying different areas. One clutched at his ribs and the other rested over his knee. His leg pulsed in agony. He'd overworked it twice that day.

"It's that kid!" A guard on the roof called, loading his bow with an arrow. Kahleem cursed again, quickly getting to his feet and begining to run. He sucked in a breath to ignore the pain and raced away from the guards. He didn't waste time avoiding the artesans and their vases, knocking the women over and breaking their crafts. Just as he came to spy a haystack, his foot caught on another person he'd carelessly bowled over.

The guards were upon him, swords slashing, maces crushing, boots kicking. He only hissed, grunted or gasped, as the Master had taught him. His vision began to haze when he recieved a kick in the head, only slightly realizing he was about to die. A large guard began to swing the mace his way, he braced.

The sounds of a blade cutting skin and blood spraying reached the apprentice's ears. He gazed around, seeing the Master decimating the guards easily. Those were the last things he saw.


	3. Familiar Treatment

Kahleem slowly became aware of his surroundings and took in a deep breath, only to yelp slightly. His ribs throbbed.

"Are you awake, Novice?" Came the Master's scalding question. Kahleem debated pretending he was asleep, like he would when he'd first started living with Altair. That never ended well for the teen.

"Yes, Master." The young assassin glanced where he depicted the scornful man's voice. Altair was leaning against a wall, only in his pants. The fire on the side danced over his sun-baked skin, defining every already-defined muscle on the elder assassin.

Kahleem ignored the perfection of his mentor's body and watched as he neared.

"Tomorrow will be the begining of your punishment," he snapped. The novice let out a witheld breath and replied softly,

"Yes, Master."

The Mentor began to inspect his student's leg, murmuring a curse as he felt the damages done by the city guards of Damascus. Kahleem's knee had suffered another type of break, he assumed it was a fracture. (He'd call for a physician in soon.) The murky-eyed boy let out a hiss as his master examined his ribcage, pressing only slightly and finding two broken ribs.

"I will send for a doctor," he said, "for now, you will have to settle for the poultice I have." He began to remove some of his student's clothes, his eyes burdened with the sight of all the marks on the boy. Altair only opened the tunic, knowing how the hood over Kahleem's head had become a security blanket, and dragged his pants down.

Kahleem remained still on the bed, watching as his Master prepared the salve and returned to him. With those dangerous hands, Altair began to slowly spread it over the teen's chest. His mind shrouded slightly, different thoughts roaming his brain as he worked the poultice lower on his chest.

Altair continued his descent down the beaten apprentice's body, rubbing the salve into his wounds and other injuries. He'd covered his torso easily and now glanced at the teen's ruined leg. He grimaced, remembering when he'd taken the boy to a doctor nearly four years ago. The Master recalled the cries of pain that ripped from the younger Arabian's throat.

"Let's see how you can move your knee, Kahleem." Altair ordered, assisting the lift of his leg. The trained assassin scowled to mask his disgust as the boy's calf turned to one side with ease and then his knee bent inward.

"It's just dislocated." The younger said, looking into his Master's stormy gray eyes. "I just need to use the…brace." Altair caught the hatred in that very word. It caught him off guard for a moment.

He then recalled teaching the boy that any weaknesses were linked vitally to death. Submission, distraction, hesitation and emotion were the quickest ways to die in the profession of an assassin.

Kahleem displayed an intense hatred for all four weaknesses, often fueling an insatiable hate for the brace, his leg and the dead doctor that cursed him.

Altair walked over to one side of the room, taking the brace in his hands and securing the teen's knee and part of his calf in it. He blocked out the grunt the apprentice gave when he'd tightened it behind his knee and finished fastening the brace.

"I sent Akilah to get a physician for you," the Master said, "they should return soon." He received a complacent nod and then the teen closed his eyes, trying to calm himself and to ignore the throbbing pain of his leg.


	4. Useless

The two Arabians had returned to Masyaf and were currently beng cared for by nurses who worked for the Creed. Kahleem sat on his bed, relaying his weaknesses in Damascus with a scowl furrowing his expression.

"Nicci, don't bother him!" The head nurse-maid barked at a new slave. The teen assassin looked to where a girl around his age stood with food on a tray. She didn't look Arabian, but European.

The girl was caught in the crosshairs of the fellow teenager's cold stare and she fumbled with the tray. She let out a squeak as it clattered to the floor and the head nurse-maid shouted her name from wherever she was.

"I-I'm sorry!" She quickly knelt to pick the food and broken dishes up off of the dirty floor of the apprentice lodge. Kahleem knelt and easily picked up much of it and placed it on her tray silently. "I'll go get you some more food, I'm so sorry. Can I look at your wounds or-"

"It's fine," Kahleem stated, "just go about your business."

"I'm going to bring you a new tray." She left and returned shortly. The Arabian continued to study the girl.

"You're not even middle-eastern," he mumbled, "where are you from? Your name sounds European."

"I'm from Italy," she replied, handing him the tray, "I got here just a few weeks ago." She gave him a little smile and he only turned his head.

"Thank you for the food," he replied and paused, "Nicci, I think." The Italian name sounded strange on that Arabic tongue. She almost giggled, but remembered that this boy was a dangerous assassin.

He dismissed the Italian and ate the food, finding it to have a strange new spice to it. He cautiously sniffed it, catching things like peppers. Kahleem only shrugged and finished his plate, glancing up as he noticed his Master standing in the doorway.

"We will be training today, Kahleem," he ordered, "give that to a maid and come to the training arena." With a sneer he added, "maybe this will help you clean up your act."

The apprentice only obeyed and met his instructor out on the arena. He was told that this was a fight until incapacitation or serious injury. He accepted and readied himself briefly.

Altair charged at his student, hidden blade poised to strike and he was thrown with great effort by the teen. Kahleem threw a small blade at his instructor and it merely sliced his arm, he smirked triumphantly.

The elder Arabian came at his student again and while the boy attempted to avoid a hit, he hooked his foot on the teen's ribs and slammed him face-first in the dirt. The younger Arabian growled and freed himself, launching at his master and slicing open the armour on his chest.

"Closer," Altair complimented, "but not close enough." He sprung into action and the two rolled in the dirt, fists and blades flying. Altair only smirked and jammed his clenched fist crushingly into the apprentices side and the boy rolled off with a gasp.

Out of instinct to immobilize opponents, the master easily crushed Kahleem's leg, breaking it again. The apprentice let out a gasp of agony and rage, already seeing in red. Altair smirked again and let a kick fly only to have Kahleem's hidden blade lodge between his Achille's and the bones of his leg. He snarled and recoiled as the blade did.

Several creed members approached the teen, only to be swatted away and threatened with death in his scathing Arabic tone. He shouldered everyone away, hobbling unsteadily to a physician.

Kahleem did not scream or yelp as the medic set his leg and he growled as the brace was strapped to his leg. He was filled with humiliation and anger, his hands clenching.

"Unless you'd like to have your leg amputated," Malik said, "don't walk on it at all for two weeks at the least." He was the medic in Masyaf for now, others had been dispatched to kingdoms of the world.

Kahleem stared at the amputee in a mixture of rage, hatred and horror. He was useless.


	5. Grumpy Assassin

"Good morning Kahl-"

"Piss off, guido!" The Arabian snapped from his place on the bed. Nicci only giggled at him, setting down a basin of warm water and some washcloths.

"Aww," she cooed, "someone's feeling cranky..poor Kahleem!" She tucked a piece of blond hair behind her ear.

"Check the progress of my leg, I want to get up as soon as possible." He'd been on bedrest for eleven days and was practically squirming to race about the compound with other apprentices. He'd spent those eleven days getting to know Nicci, the new nursemaid.

She unravled the bandages around his leg that kept it mostly still (he'd pitched a hissy to have the brace taken off) and began to gently press at different parts and avoided the bruises. A smile spread along the Italian's pretty lips.

"Your leg looks much better." She said softly, a relieved sigh escaped the fellow teen. The two had become friends since she'd been assigned to care for him during the period of his healing.

"What are you doing?" Kahleem asked at the Italian began to rub a warm, wet cloth up along his calf.

"I need to wash your leg, it smells." She replied with a smile. She looked up at the slowly relaxing assassin, his eyes becoming hooded much like himself. Kahleem's scowl faded into a half-smile as he sagged slightly against the wall behind his bed.

No one had really taken the time to wash, rub or massage him in any way. The simplicity of her gentle fingers on his sore leg was highly relaxing. He enjoyed the attention nonetheless.

Lazily as Nicci continued to rub at his leg with care, he roamed her with his eyes. He'd never taken the time to appreciate that Italian skin that was paler than his. Those long waves of soft blond hair. Her cute button nose or those small lips that looked incredibly soft and inviting.

The assassin shook his head as though banishing the affectionate thoughts. He didn't have time for women or anything that branched out from them. Griping, bitching, talking, sharing interests, friendships, hugging, holding...kissing...love..?

Love. The word confused him. The only love he'd ever known was that of his mother and the love he commited to his blade. He wasn't sure how to love a woman. He'd seen other assassins who had wives and he'd stumbled onto his Mentor and some woman 'wrestling' as Altair had explained it to the eleven year old boy.

Nicci was beautiful. He would admit that, anyway. She was exotic compared to all of the Muslim women here in Masyaf. He wondered what she believed in for a while, before groaning as she reached the purple bruise on the inner side of his kneecap.

"Sorry Kahleem," she said, glancing up at the slightly-more-alerted Arabian, her hands stopped.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, "thank you for doing this, I know you weren't ordered to." She blushed, having been caught.

"I...well, I wanted to." She grumbled. The assassin let an amused chuckle slip out, his lips curled in his own smile.

Nicci felt her heart flutter in her chest. She was so drawn to the gorgeous smile of the young Arabian, his dark skin and the way his eyes looked no matter how he was acting. Mad, they flashed sharply. Sad, they held that hardly-noticable glisten of what should be tears. Excited, they were bright green. And when he was begining to fall asleep, they'd slowly relax and unfocus, he'd sag lightly into his pillows and sprawl.

She herself had a hard time admitting that she'd fallen for the assassin.


	6. Teen by Nature

"Your leg is doing exceedingly well," Malik praised, looking at the anxious teen, "you can start walking on it today." If Kahleem didn't know any better, he would have shot off the bed and tackled the amputee to the ground screaming about his joy. He only smiled.

"This is great," he said, waiting to be given to okay to stand. With permission given, the lean assassin carefully stood on his good leg. He slowly put weight on his newly-healed limb.

"There will be pain for the first few days, but nothing you can't walk off." Malik said, "For exercise until advised differently, just go on walks."

The Arabian teen smiled eagerly, only half listening to his superior. Once alone, he began to limp out of the apprentices' lodge and search for the little Italian. He saw her plucking certain things from a garden and he made his way over.

"Excuse me, miss," he greeted, "don't you have to go into town today to retrieve some cattle?" Nicci glanced at her friend, a smile erupting as she saw him standing on his leg.

"Did you want to come with me?" She held the basket of herbs in her arms and she stood straight. Kahleem took the basket and nodded, following her about the compound until they took their leave.

"It's a cow," Kahleem said flatly as his companion fawned over the bovine. She shook her head and petted the cow's head gently.

"_Ma la nostra mucca! Non e` bello ?_" She whined in Italian. Kahleem scowled at her. He could hardly stand the Italian language and her usage irritated him. The taller teen spat an insult in Arabic, befuddling her.

"What?"

"You're in Masyaf," he replied, "don't speak Italian in the middle of the market." She rolled her eyes and looked at the Arabic boy.

"Shut up," she defended herself, "it's a proud language."

"And so is Arabic, but this is not your native country." Truth be told, he had fun irritating the pretty European. She only shook her head at him, leading the cow back.

"How is your leg?" Nicci caught her companion's pause, his hand pressing into part of his thigh.

"It just hurts," he replied, "don't worry about it." The Arabian offered her a warm smile, straightening to follow her. The pair and their heifer made it back to the compound.

"You idiot!" Dema, the head nursemaid, screamed at some poor soul. Kahleem walked by, pausing to catch who'd angered the woman. Nicci yelped as the woman's husky hand came across her face. The assassin's vision zeroed onto the fat woman brandishing a scornful palm.

"Dema," Kahleem snapped as he entered the kitchen, "what do you think you're doing?" It was a snarl that emerged from his mouth instead of a question. Dema looked up fearfully at the teen, her hands falling to her sides.

"She..." she swallowed, "Nicci dropped our finer glasses…I was just…"

"Just what?" The boy roared, "It's a damned plate!" He threw a piece of the glassware against the wall, the shatter not reaching his ear. Dema shook before the dangerous teen.

"Ka-kahleem…" He gripped her dress, his hidden blade unsheathing and pushing towards the thin, weak skin of the woman's neck. She began to sob pitifully, crying apologies to a deaf man.

"Woman, I will not hesitate to end your pathetic life," he spat, "I leave you with nothing more than a promise." He met the tear-stained brown eyes of the woman before him, "if I catch you even _touching_ Nicci again, I will end you." He let her go with a sneer. "And clean this up." He ordered the sobbing woman before he beckoned Nicci to come with him.

The teens made it to a small clearing near the gates of Masyaf. Nicci rubbed at a bruise on her cheek with a frown and she was faced by her savior.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because," he replied, "I went through the same things for years. I wasn't born into the creed; I was picked up from the remains of a torture house."

The Italian wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging her crying frame into his strong one. The tanner of the two wrapped his arms around her waist confidently and murmured the comforting 'shh' a few times.

The Arabian pulled away when she had calmed, his hand slowly cupping her face. Green and blue met and stared for what felt like ages until green closed, chapped lips meeting silky ones. The moment seared with love, scorching Kahleem's cold heart.

The two parted for air and to register what happened and what it meant. Nicci only leaned up and pressed her mouth against the assassin's again. It startled them both as Kahleem's tongue, which was usually barbed with insults, slowly slid out to ask for permission. Nicci shyly accepted the surprisingly-skilled muscle into her mouth, her own starting to mingle.

"I'm not sure if you knew this," Kahleem mumbled, "but I think I love you." The two had only kissed, no wandering or fondling. Only a chaste kiss and one of deeper meaning.

"I guessed."


	7. Templars

"Apprentices, maids or other non-assassin creed members must remain in their lodges or in a secure building unless escorted by expierienced assassins until further notice." Al-Mualim's voice boomed over the assembly of creed members. Kahleem scoffed quietly to himself, slipping away from the crowd as the head honcho continued his speech.

"Hello there," the tall Arabian murmured into his Italian's ear, his arms winding around her small waist. His lips brushed playfully over her earlobe and the blond girl turned in his arms.

"Hi there," she smiled, pressing those soft, warm lips against the firm, chapped ones. The teens slowly became tangled until another teenager snapped at them with the 'get a room' comment. Kahleem scowled at the other boy almost challengingly until Nicci pulled her partner away.

"I think..." he began, "we should find ourselves a little privacy. Elsewhere."

"But, Kahleem," the Italian woman protested softly, "didn't the others warn us of the message from templars?"

"You don't think I'll protect you?" He threw a mock-wounded expression at her, "nothing will happen, I promise you."

Nicci could not resist those murky green eyes and smiled at her Arabian partner. The teens laced fingers and she was led out by the tall assassin, out of Masyaf and into one of the animal fields.

Kahleem led the blond about the field; the two seemed to play their own game of courtship and ended up toppled together on a large haystack. The assassin's lips pulled into a smile as the nursemaid rested complacently on his skinny but muscled chest.

A suggestive air filled the two as Kahleem made his move. The teens began the first steps of fornication, hands roaming and skin heating. The apprentice assassin had surprised himself, seemingly knowing exactly what to do and leading the way.

Kahleem's assassin's robes were opened and his hood was pushed back, Nicci's hands gently cupped his face and she leaned down to press a kiss to her hero's lips. Before they met, her nails dug in and the assassin's eyes snapped open, watching as his partner coughed a bit of blood into his face.

Nicci's nails left a mark as she was ripped away from the teen on the haystack. His eyes darted to the figure holding his Italian by the hair and blood streamed down from a stab wound through her back. The assassin tried to jump to her rescue, only to find that his arms were held down by two men. A pair of hands also held the teen's head in place and roughly kept his gaze trained on Nicci's struggling form.

"This is a message to you and your fellow assassins." The man shrouded in a hood holding Nicci snarled and swiftly sliced through the nursemaid's neck. Her body fell and began to twitch any life out while her head was thrown into his lap. The templars took their leave and Kahleem's eyes zeroed in on his Italian's horrifying face. He nearly threw the decapitated head and let out an alarming scream of anguish.

Sleeping members of the creed heard the boy's cries and rushed to help. Altair pressed through the crowd quickly and approached the boy. He was retching near the body of a girl, resuming his sobs once all the foul contents had left his stomach. The assassin came up and seized him by the shoulders, hauling the frantic teenager away from the corpse. Members of the creed handled said corpse.

"Kahleem, what happened?" He demanded as soon as they were away from the crowd. The teen's murky, tear-soaked eyes didn't focus on him and his mouth opened and closed without words. Altair stared at his apprentice, having never seen him in such a state.

"Templars…" he breathed, his entire frame shook and the elder Arabian continued to try to steady the boy. Altair only looked at the disheveled teen again.

Templars.


	8. Need you

Altair sat down on his bed heavily, not yet ready to dress down for bed. He'd been with his apprentice again today for most of the day, trying to converse with the nearly-catatonic boy. He would not speak after Nicci's death. It bothered Altair almost to the point of anger. He wasted time consulting Malik only to hear 'he loved her, you're an idiot, keep talking to him', which helped nothing.

The assassin heaved a sigh and began undoing his sash. He let the red material sink to the floor and started removing armour. The metals made a soft clang as he dropped them to the floor beside his bed. Altair was left in a pair of pants and his bracer, which contained his hidden blade. He rarely removed it.

It wasn't long before the lean Arabian drifted off to sleep.

Kahleem dropped the blade he'd been holding to his throat, hearing it clang to the floor. He cupped his mouth, muffling his sob effectively. He'd just…tried to kill himself. There was a thin line over the front of his throat were tiny bubbles of blood were starting to well up. The teen fell to his knees on the floor, letting out a soft moan, not yet ready to sob aloud.

He got up and made his way to Altair's sleeping area, opening and closing the door to the assassins' quarters. The other assassins were snoring comfortably in their beds as was his master. Without a second thought, he crawled in beside the sleeping man and proceeded to wake him up.

"Uh…Kahleem?" Altair rumbled, opening his eyes and looking down at the head bowed, its face buried in his shoulder. It was his sobbing apprentice.

"Master…Master Altair, I need your help," he pitifully cried, "I need you to stop me."

"What?"

"I just…" the boy didn't finish, letting a few more sobs wrack his body, "I just tried to kill myself." Altair let him continue. "I can't keep doing this."  
>"Doing what, Kahleem?"<p>

"I can't keep going," he murmured, tightening his hold around the taller assassin's neck. "I have nothing to go on for."

"Aren't you going to kill Robert? Avenge your mother and Nicci?"

"After that, what then?" He looked up at his master with those teary green puddles, "I live on revenge, Master. That's all."

Altair wound his arms around the shaking teen, resting his cheek on the surprisingly soft, short hair.

"Do not cry, Kahleem," he whispered, "stop crying. I will not let you die."

"But assassins—"

"Do not contradict yourself," he almost laughed, "I will not let you die." He repeated, "You are very important to me." He tried to sound as sincere as possible. It was hard for the assassin to admit what he carried in his heart and mind to anyone, let alone the source of those feelings and thoughts.

The teen did not reply, only tried to calm himself and wipe the drying tears off of his tanned face. The two Arabians sat in silence as they rested on the warm bed. Altair pulled back the covers, letting Kahleem crawl under them. He did not remove his arms from around his companion for some time.

Before long, Kahleem was sleeping with his head resting on his fellow assassin's shoulder and his breath came in relaxed patterns. Once he was sure the teen was asleep, the older assassin went to sleep. The two were comforted by a dream's embrace until the morning light twinkled in and a fellow creed member woke the elder assassin.

"Altair…"

Said assassin's arm snapped up, his wrist flexed and the blade came out of its sheath. He held it to their chest.

"What."

"Kahleem…isn't supposed to be in here." He uttered quietly," he's supposed to be in the apprentices' lodge."

"I don't care." He then growled, "go about your duties unless you'd like to be thrown into this morning's meal." With the threat left, the man scampered away. Altair didn't hesitate to yawn and let his arm recoil under the warm comforter-like blanket.

"Master Altair?"

He groaned with annoyance as his half-asleep state was broken by a servant. He opened his eyes to glare death at the scrawny boy.

"_What._"

"Do…" he swallowed nervously, "do you think I could ever be an assassin like you?" He rephrased at the displeased scowl he continued to receive. "I mean, just an assassin. No one could ever be like you!"

"Sure," he grumbled, "now go away." The preteen raced over to his friends with an excited grin.

"I have Master Altair's blessings!" He cried. Kahleem's murky eyes began to open, surveying where he was. He jumped at the sight of Altair, his eyes zeroing in on his Master's grumpy expression.

He was not supposed to be here.


	9. Filling the Void

Nervously, Kahleem chanced a peek at the figure he was curled up beside. He almost yelped in surprise, staring nervously at Altair's sleeping face.

"Oh," his voice startled the teen, "you're up." The assassin's gray eyes met the novice's puddle-green eyes, searching.

Kahleem only nodded, his eyes flicking elsewhere to see the rest of the males at this rank waking up. He turned pink as Altair wrapped his arms tighter around him. The teen lay stiffly there beside his mentor, tension pulling his muscles.

"Relax," Altair murmured, one hand rubbing in a slow circle between his student's rigid shoulder blades. Kahleem slowly lowered his head to red on Altair's chest, looking at him suspiciously.

He'd never seen Altair so relaxed before, it worried him. The young Arabian realized the hand on his back gently working over his muscles (or lack thereof) was slowly moving lower. After a few minutes, he'd decided that there was no threat in the hand and shifted to relax a little more. He bit his lip as his leg popped at an embarrassingly loud volume.

The lazy palm on his back stilled and the older Arabian lifted his head to meet his student's gaze with worry. Kahleem watched his mentor shift and push away the blankets, one hand coming to his bad leg. He stared uncertainly at the hand, eyes flicking up to see it's owner's expression. Abruptly, he sat up and pushed Altair's hand away, shoving the bones back to their original position.

Altair glanced around the lodge, locating no other souls besides their own. He looked into Kahleem's eyes. The teen stared back curiously, pulling his good leg up to rest his chin on it.

"Kahleem…" he began, "there is…something I need to tell you." Nervous. Master Altair was nervous? "I have been…keeping this to myself, but I think it is time I finally told you."

"What, Master Altair?" He asked, and then pulled from his knee as the thin cut along his neck stung irritably. The teen tensed up as the strong hands of his teacher pulled him close by the tops of his arms. His chest was pressed evenly against Altair's and his fuller lips were crushed to Altair's own. He sat very still for a few minutes, his eyes still open wide.

"I have fallen for you, Kahleem," Altair whispered softly, his arms securing the boy in his hold. For a few moments, the younger assassin sat still and then looked up at his superior. Altair looked anxious, his eyes searching Kahleem's again for a sign of response.

After what felt like ages, Kahleem's thin hands held Altair's jaw and cheeks as he pressed his lips experimentally to the older assassin's. With only a second to register it, the taller Arabian's hands came to his new lover's hips, pulling them closer together. Kahleem was the ruler of Altair's lap as they kissed very slowly, gently and curiously.

The couple slowly fell into place on the bed, Mentor stretched over vulnerable student. Minutes ticked by that felt like years as Altair's dangerous hands slowly untied and parted Kahleem's robes. The teen stiffened as his hand deftly ran down over his hip bone almost teasingly.

The hand stroking Kahleem's hip ventured down his ruined thigh briefly and he glanced up at his mentor. Altair's eyes were shrouded with desire and the two finally locked eyes. The teen wouldn't admit the ideas swimming around his mind at the moment.

The older Arabian's mouth met with his student's again and he let his tongue slip in slowly, coaxing his partner to engage. With some hesitation, Kahleem's tongue mingled with his mentor's and soon forgot about the room around him. His finger's wantonly pulled at his shoulders, almost begging for skin-to-skin contact.

With a smile, Altair rewarded him by pressing their chests together, slowly grinding into Kahleem's pelvis. He could feel the soft moan go straight to his groin and he could also feel the blood rush with it. Altair's silver eyes roamed the novice's chest, the scars littering his perfectly tanned skin and he grinned a little.

Soft black curls were sprouted about the teen's bellybutton and led down past the waist of his bottoms. What got him was the impressive tent in Kahleem's pants. After he mulled over his next actions, he began to work his lips slowly along his jaw.

The scrape that met his lips made him laugh. The laugh pulled the teen out of his trance and he scowled up at his newly-found partner.

"What is so funny?"

"I did not know you were shaving," he replied lightly, "I like stubble on a man." Altair began to work down Kahleem's neck affectionately, starting to nibble as he met the boy's collarbones.

"I have been shaving for almost a year, Altair," he deadpanned, then huffed quietly, "you would have noticed, had you not been horsing around with those women."

He flinched as Altair bit a little harder than before right beside his nipple. The Arabian stifled a chuckle, making his younger counterpart shiver as the heated breath ran over a sensitive part of him.

"Shut up," he delivered a soft lick the nub with the order, making his partner gasp softly. Altair made sure to use his tongue, teeth and lips to irritate the bud to hardness and redness before working it's twin to the same condition. Kahleem squirmed in the sheets, his own teeth worrying his lip.

As Altair's hands crept under the waistband of the fellow assassin's pants, said assassin quickly rose to watch, resting on his elbows. He knew he'd kick himself for it later, but Kahleem let out a submissive whimper. He'd gone this far with a whore Altair didn't know about. (He preferred a clean mouth lathering him with attention-the whore was...not so clean.)

Altair's dangerous hand slid under the waistband and wrapped around the base of the hardening appendage and he smoothly began to stroke it up and down. Kahleem shifted and let himself keen quietly for more. The silver eyes of his master did not leave his until his cock had been fished from his pants and Altair was eye-level with it.

The green pool's of the student zeroed in on the pink tongue darting out to wet thinned lips and he then shivered as lips pressed to the slit at the end of his cock. He forced himself to watch Altair plant soft kisses all over the length, sucking in a gasp as that tongue ran over a vein.

Silver met green and the storm's owner slowly lowered his mouth, letting the well-sized dick slip through his lips without a second thought. He felt pleasure surge to his crotch at the sight of his student's face twisting with ecstacy.

He welcomed the boy's sharp hips bucking some into his face. It hurt, but it could have been worse.

The older Arabian began a slow rythem of sucking shallowly at the very tip and letting his tongue glide along the gorged veins. He kept his young partner on edge, squirming and trying to be sure he wouldn't beg. A moan tore out of Kahleem's thin lips, his hips pushing up again and the coarse hairs tickled Altair's nose.

Once the older man could feel the appendage in his mouth start throbbing with impending release, he pulled away. Kahleem's big green eyes stared him down, misty with the physical excitement tingling through his body.

"Altair..." his voice was almost a whimper, but he cut off his request instantly. Altair held back his chuckle, only leaning up to press a gentle kiss to Kahleem's wet lips. The teen's palms ran over Altair's shoulders, nails gently scraping over the expanse of skin.

The kiss heated up slowly, tongues begining to mingle, a surplus of saliva gathering and teeth clicking as the jaws collided occassionally. Kahleem let out a gasp, pulling back with a thin line of saliva still connecting him to his partner.

When had Altair removed his pants? When did that hand break through his defenses? When had that finger slid through the cleft of his ass and pressed into him?

"Relax, Kahleem."

"It feels...really strange."

"It does at first," he replied, curling his finger a bit inside the younger assassin. The teen shivered a bit, groaning openly. His fingers furled in the sheets as the finger slowly exited him and stopped at the top knuckle before pressing back inside.

"Altair!" he yelped as he felt a second finger begin forcing an entry only seconds after he accepted the first. Altair's hand held him firmly in place by his shoulder as he squirmed, the digits began to slowly move around inside him and spread to stretch him.

"Relax." He breathed gently, fishing himself out and beginging to stroke himself. Altair bit his lip, spreading his precum all over his tip and shaft to make for a knock-off lubricant. After a lengthy session of preparation, leaving Kahleem gasping and begging, Altair began to rub the head of his cock between his student's cheeks.

Kahleem squirmed almost uncertainly, feeling a hot liquid substance sliding down into his pucker. He looked up at Altair, questioning this next stage.

"Just bear with me," he said softly, guiding his cock to the entrance and begining the plunge. Kahleem let out a yelp, his nails digging into the arm holding Altair's weight on his left. He hadn't even seen this foreign apprendage before it began jamming itself into his tight canal. The younger Arabian only squirmed, trying to hurry the process of being filled, he forced himself to relax.

"Altair!"

"Mhm..." the assassin smirked, having filled his companion and pressed into his prostate. Altair began to pull back slowly, relishing in the feel of Kahleem's hole rubbing against him before he snapped his hips and re-entered the boy.

The darker-skinned of the two groaned happily, letting his lighter counterpart begin fucking him into the bed they'd shared. The teen had gotten over the initial pain, savoring the burn of pleasure that had started coiling in his stomach the moment Altair's kisses became feverish. Kahleem arched his back, already needing more.

"Al...Altair..."

"Yes?" The man didn't sound hindered in any way at the exertion of energy he provided.

"I..need more!" He squirmed a bit when Altair brushed against his prostate. He loved this tingling and heat just spiking up his spine, but he needed an extra kick. He was begging for it after a few more thrusts from Altair.

An unhappy whine escaped Kahleem as Altair pulled out, but a surprised gasp replaced it as he was turned over onto his stomach quickly. The gasp was eaten up by a loud moan as the large shaft of the man above him slid into his semi-stretched ass.

The pair began to move feverishly against eachother. Kahleem hissed softly at the bite of Altair's short nails digging into his hips and slamming that cock deep inside of him. In the room were only the white noises of sex; panting, groaning, the creak of the bed and the slap of skin their bodies made.

Altair draped himself over his partner's back, just pressing them together. His skin was a silky heat, he wanted to stay there. The older assassin just continued to pump himself into his new lover, reaching his left hand around to wrap around the leaking cock.

The assassin's were reduced to gasping, sweating melds of flesh after they'd each come. Kahleem's eyes closed after a long while of just breathing and he rolled over to press a kiss to Altair's lips.

"I love you."

"I love you, too." Altair smiled softly as he responded, wrapping his arms around the probably-sore boy.

Kahleem's skin glistened in the slightest bit with a fine layer of sweat that had gathered. He shifted as the contents inside of him did, ignoring just how sticky he felt all over. He wondered for a moment how long his rear would roar disapproval at him, or if he'd satisfyed Altair. He'd be deemed a failure almost instantaneously if that were the case.

He pulled a thin sheet over himself and his new partner, not bothering to stifle the yawn that escaped him. Altair's growl alerted him that someone was nearby.

"What."

"You have a mission from Al Mualim, Altair." Malik's voice said coldly, then softly, "if he's sick, bring him to me." He'd not caught onto the scent of sex, but the sight of Kahleem's sweaty form. He suspected a fever.

"I will," Altair promised, "now go. I've got him for now."

The two were left alone again and Altair sighed deeply.

"Am I coming with you?"

"I should think so," Altair replied, nuzzling into Kahleem's shaggy black hair. It smelled purely of the teen. He needed a haircut though. The older assassin closed his eyes for a while longer. "Let's rest up and then I'll speak with Al Mualim."

With Kahleem's nod left as consent, Altair wrapped his arms around the lithe boy and let him face the wall. He'd remembered something about the sense of security it gave off to be sleeping against a wall. Secure. That's how he wanted Kahleem to feel forever.


	10. Jerusalem: Part One

Altair led his and Kahleem's horses to a travel station, letting them rest and graze for a short while. He glanced over to find the teen sitting on a large, stoney-colored rock while he dug through a small pouch he always had on him. The master made his way over, winding his arms around Kahleem's narrow waist from behind.

"A good portion of the hospitalier's survivors will be in Jerusalem," he murmured, a thin, browning cloth clenched in his fingers. The older Arabian peeked over his shoulder, analyzing the small material. The cloth had been tied around Kahleem's two-inch wrist when Altair had found him six years ago. The taller man's hand twined with his partner's supportively

"Why do you still have this?" He pulled Kahleem's hood back gently, placing a kiss beside his ear to offer comfort, if it was needed. The numbers on the cloth were fading more, old specks of blood and other fluids still somewhat visible.

"It reminds me of where I was," he replied, bringing a hand to Altair's cheek to politely end the affectionate caresses on his neck. He was not an open or generous partner, Altair learned quickly. He rolled his eyes, resuming his previous actions only on the other side of his neck. The older assassin claimed he was human too-only coveting attention(that was his story, he was sticking to it). Sometimes the one-sided affections made him question the relationship, he would wonder if he was just a replacement for Nicci.

"I love you," he said, "I just want you to know that."

Kahleem's thin lips pulled into a smile reserved for Altair alone. The smile was enough to stop hearts and steal someone's breath, but it now hardly came about. Altair treasured that simple gesture, seeming to understand the strength it took for the boy to even grin a bit.

"I love you, too," he replied softly, tension taking a pause before a grave look passed over his face, "promise me you won't let them take me away."

"I promise," the tall Arabian said gently, "the madmen...I will not let them get to you." They shared a bit of silence, sharing the same thought pattern.

Before long, the two saddled up and made it to Jerusalem, leaving their horses again at the travel station to enter the city walls. Kahleem stood rigidly, eyes peeled and alert as he scanned for threats. A man giggled nearby, like a trigger making the teen clench his fists and the line of emotionlessness on his face to morph into a scowl.

Altair walked closely, steering his compatriot away from people who could potentially touch him. He glanced at suspicious characters and found his mind wandering. He thought about the Merchant King, the giggling escapees, the hickies he'd made early this morning on Kahleem's tanned neck and it drabbled into his plans for the teen this evening.

A shout from said teen and a fist slamming into a man's face yanked Altair out of his thoughts. People moved away from the scuffling pair, some stayed to watch. The taller assassin stared in shock at the rage-filled novice who crushed the madman's laughing mouth with another angry fist.

After the initial shock, Altair dragged his fuming student off the half cackling-half sobbing man. The pair hid in a dark alley, the older assassin's hands pressing his partner gently into the stone wall behind him.

The shaking teen stared up at his mentor, fists unfurling and furling surrepitiously. The older Arabian slowly ran his hands down to the tensed hands of his lover, threading their fingers together and resting them against the wall. He gently pressed a kiss to the rigid male, trying to soothe him.

"Calm," he murmured to him, lips working along the stubbly jaw presented to him. "I am with you," he said, "everything will be okay."

After what seemed like ages, the teen's breathing slowed to normal and the tendons in his wrists slackened. He ducked to press his mouth to Altair's, most of the tension drained out of his features. Kahleem waited a while longer, taking a deep breath to quell the ashes of his rage. He didn't push Altair's comforting hands or lips away, drawing as much of the pacifying warmth to himself as he could.

As calmly as possibly attained at the moment, the pair of assassins left the alley to finish exploring Jerusalem. The older of the two made sure to continue their exploration with a hand placed on the small of Kahleem's back to steer him away from potential meltdowns.

His efforts were all for naught as guards rushed the cowled men, shouting reasons for assault and arrest as they came. A renewal of rage burned through Kahleem and he retaliated instantly, unsheathing the lightweight blade he carried and parrying an offending officer. Both creed members fended off and dispatched the guards, making a break for the Bureau.

Safety had been met and they took a few moments to recooperate. Kahleem let himself sink down onto a pile of cushions and push his loosely-connected bones around until he was satisfied. They met with the awaiting Scribe and settled in.

"When are we going after the Merchant King?" Kahleem asked as he ate, scowling at the tasteless meat before him. Hadeej did not know how to cook, he'd remember.

"We aren't," Altair replied, "we have virtually no success rate." He held his tongue, trying not to pointedly scorn his partner. The teen heaved a sigh, having easily pinned himself as the hinderence of the mission. He left his plate and retired to their den-like room.

Altair studied the boy's gait, secretly wondering when Kahleem had attemtped to better his walking. It seemed almost flawless, aside from the loose movements of his bad leg. The assassin's eyes roamed up to focus on the plump behind of the male he'd taken as his lover and partner.

After exchanging good-nights with the scribe, Altair followed his companion into the room they'd be sleeping in. Kahleem's boots were off to the side, his belt and sash lazily sitting near them. The teen's midriff was visible, his outermost robe shed as well and his tunic open. He glanced at the dozing expression on Kahleem's face and wandered down with his eyes. The faint happy trail darkening as it got to the waist of his trousers

His perverted reel of ideas faltered as a new concept came to mind; Kahleem was beautiful in this light. The moon's silvery bands trailed over the boy's reforming abs and taut skin. Altair began to disrobe as well, kicking off all but his pants. He settled near Kahleem, running his fingertips slowly along a few of the scars littering the fellow assassin's chest.

The teen shifted and looked at Altair, those green puddles containing a want he hadn't seen before.

"Lie down." The order came to the older assassin in the form of a sultry, low suggestion. The boy was picking up many tricks quickly, using his voice and those eyes to bend his master to his own will.

Altair lay back on the sheets and cushions, training his eyes on the hands and face of his apprentice. Said apprentice straddled him, pressing heavy kisses to his mouth and jawline first. Stubble brushed stubble and soon tongues were warring between and in either's mouth.

Kahleem pulled away after a long while of kissing, touching and fondling, swallowing back to excess of saliva that had pooled in his mouth. His green eyes were nearly glowing in the dim light of the moon as he reared back to remove his tunic. Altair's left hand went for the bulge growing in his pants, only to be grabbed by Kahleem's bony hand. He smirked and shook his head.

The teacher lifted his head as the student knelt between his legs. He felt himself grin as the teen fished his throbbing erection out of the tight pants, bending down to rub the tip of his tongue slowly over the head.

Altair groaned lowly as Kahleem opened his mouth and slowly accepted his cock. The man bucked shallowly into this wet heat he wasn't used to. It surprised him as the teen descended hastily, sucking the appendage into his throat.

Where were his gag reflexes?

The older assassin pulled at Kahleem's shaggy black hair lightly, drawing the boy up and then pushing him down slowly. He did this for the teen until the head he held was moving on its own. As the pleasure from the bobbing head began to quickly furl in Altair's stomach, the teen's tongue worked into the equation, caressing a particularly engorged vein on the underside of his cock. The wet muscle relentlessly worked with the constricted throat and hollowing cheeks of the sucking mouth.

White streaked over Altair's vision and he came with a muted, but drawn-out moan. Kahleem jerked at the sudden release, but swallowed it either way, deciphering the taste of semen. He decided he liked it after a minute or so, then looked to his panting teacher. His thinned lips curled into a smirk.

"It is time for bed, Altair," Kahleem ordered gently, "you look tired."

Altair growled quietly after a minute or so, pulling the teen into a deep kiss. This initiated round two.

After they'd finished, Kahleem looked up at the sky through the window. Altair slept confortably on his back, a snore gently rumbling out of him. With a deep sigh, the teen left the nest of cushions and sheets. A warm look passed over his features and he leaned over his lover, placing a soft kiss on his fore head.

"I love you, Altair," he said solemnly, "I will repay you for the kindness you showed me this afternoon, do not worry."


	11. Jerusalem: Part Two

Kahleem finished dressing and he donned his weapons-hidden blade, lightweight sword, throwing knives and a small jar of medicine. He looked back at his sleeping lover before sighing quietly in resolve, pulling his hood up and over his head.

The Arabian walked into where the Dai would normally be writing away in some pamphlet or on a map to retrieve a feather. He had accompanied his lover on these nine target assassination missions originally to gain more experience. He was currently in it just to prevent seperation from the man.

Silently, the teen made his leave from the safety of the Bureau. He'd grown used to the burn and pull on his muscles as he scaled buildings and leapt over rooftops. Kahleem crouched quietly as he scanned the palace before him for openings

"I am not getting in unless I take out a few guards." He mused quietly, flexing his wrist and dropping onto a lower platform and stabbing a man. He trembled at the rush he got as blood spurted out of the man's mouth. The teen dropped the body on the platform and made his way to an interior hallway.

"An assassin!" He heard shouts, "an assassin breeched the walls! Find him, now!"

Kahleem's thin lips curled into a thin smirk. He was hungry for battle, hungry for bloodshed. He always was.

The teen continued to stroll through this corridor, skillfully destroying his opponents if they came at him. One of the bigger guards ran at him, swinging a heavy sword at him and the tip sliced his arm deeply. This only spurred him on more, he let out a shout as he threw himself at the guard.

Pearly teen bared in a smirk, flashing green eyes, a ruffling white hood and a ren-stained blade plunging into some part of him was all the guard saw through his helmet before he too joined his dead companions.

The hallway was cleared and Kahleem continued walking on, stopping at a particularly fancy room. He pushed the door open with his foot, his green eyes lighting with the view before him.

Gold, silver, bright shining jewels, valuable furs and other stones. He walked in with a smirk, running his hand along what he thought was a smooth jade glass, from China he suspected. He roamed quietly, his fingers gently caressing a blue silk and golden beads on a shirt, also from China he'd assumed.

A shout caught his attention, a sword whistling through space he'd occupied moments ago. He yelped as his back was sliced by the person wielding said blade.

"Guards! He's here!"

Kahleem looked up to find his target, Abu'l Nuqoud, the Merchant King. He shoved his shoulder against the door, sliding a golden rod that was originally holding cotton drapes through the handles of the door.

"You are not getting away, alive that is." Kahleem said as he stalked closer. Abu'l screamed and tried to swipe at the boy with the sword again, only to have his wrist broken by a swift, precisely aimed heel. His blade fell with a clatter to the floor and he hand his newly injured arm to his chest.

"Why are you here, boy!"

"I am simply here on a mission," Kahleem's voice was eerily calm, "I am here to take your life, Merchant King."

With this promise left on the man's ears, the teen sprang, slicing open the man's throat. He fell to the tile with a gurgling rasp. Kahleem silently knelt beside him, studying how the man struggled for air.

"You have wronged these people," the teen hissed, "their money and jobs and families only put to your wants, only working to please you. You will pay, you've taken lives for nothing."

"You take the lives of men and women, strong in the conviction that their deaths will improve the lots of those left behind." Abu'l gurgled out, blood seeping from his mouth, "A minor evil for a greater good? We are the same."

Kahleem snarled at the chuckling man, even as he silenced and died. He ran the feather over the open, gaping wound in the mans neck and placed the feather in a pouch on his side. With a smirk, he mosied over to the treasures and collected as much as he could carry without being hindered.

A silenced passed over him, the world behind him shutting out. He lifted a fine silver chain that had a simple heart made from seaglass dangling on the bottom. Flashes of his mother slowly whirled by, the hospitalier's greedy hand ripping this very same necklace off of his mother. Her brown eyes reddened with tears as she wept over that last piece of Kahleem's father.

He remembered the man's green eyes laughing at him when he'd climbed onto one of the muddy pigs roaming their small farm and rode it around like a fat horse. Pain flooded into Kahleem's chest as he recalled his mother's sobs after the news of Karim Nizar's death during the crusades.

Kahleem stood silently as he remembered learning how to write. He started with his name, his father's name, his mother's name and the names of his older brothers.

Kahleem Nizar.

Karim Nizar.

Faiza Nizar.

Isaak Nizar.

Ishmael Nizar.

He turned the small pendant over and read the tiny Arabic scrawls his father had engraved on there for his mother on the day of their marriage. A pained smile came to his face and he stored the broken necklace in the small pouch he kept his wristband in.

The door being broken down yanked him from his reverie, he lifted a blade to threaten the intruder as he whirled around. His heart quickly sank at the sight before him.

Altair staggered into the room, clutching his left arm and slowly making his way over to the boy.

"Ka...Kahleem, we've got to get out of here." Altair was begining to fall, blood seeming to drag him down as it soaked into his clothes. The teen quickly came to his partner's side, supporting his weight as well as his own.

"I will get us out of here," he promised, adrenaline coursing through his body as he quickly made use of a heavy, golden item by throwing it through the window and creating a way out for the two of them. Kahleem raced through Jerusalem, stumbling a few times with Altair's weight on his shoulders.

He slowly laid Altair down on a low-standing table, quickly begining to part the mans robes and he summoned the medically-experienced Dai.

The two of them worked over Altair for quite some time before the scribe helped him maneuver the heavy man back into the den-like room and left to secure more sleep. He'd left medicine to be given to Altair if the pain was too much to handle.

Kahleem sat about a foot away from his lover. He was consumed with anxiety, worry, fear and shame as he watched over the breathing man.

"I cannot feel my arm," Altair said urgently, looking up to his partner, "I-I cannot feel it, Kahleem."

"Shh," the teen murmured, his hand cupping Altair's stubbly cheek, "I know, I am sorry." He paused, "it is broken, Altair. It will heal." He rubbed his thumb over the apple of his mentor's cheek, trying to be as soothing as the man was.

They say in silence for the longest time, Altair counted stars and Kahleem watched the same fly roam the den.

"Lay with me," Altair said softly, holding out his unbroken arm to the boy. Kahleem uncertainly crawled over to his good side, not about to deny his partner anything. The teen layed his body next to Altair's, wedging slightly into his side the way he knew he fit.

"I am so sorry, Altair," he nearly began to cry into his older lover, trying to will the tears in his eyes away. "I never meant for - "

"Just tell me, the next time you decide to break the rules." Altair turned his head and pressed a warm, firm kiss to his partner's lips. Kahleem's tears rolled easily down the side of his face as he whole-heartedly returned the sentiment.

"I love you, Altair..." he whispered, tears breaking his voice, "I love you..."

"Shh," Altair's hand slowly rubbed his back and he pressed a kiss to the shaking boy's temple. "I love you too."


	12. Downtime in Masyaf

"You student is nearly as dangerous as you are, Altair," Malik said, standing beside the assassin as his apprentice trained in the ring against other assassins. The wounded man nodded, really only focusing on the boy's returning muscles. He loved that 'V' of muscle along his abdomen, which would only define as he worked his body.

The teen snarled at the heavy man pinning him, bringing his knee up to shove it up under his ribs. The man rolled off with a moan, clutching his middle in pain. Spectators cheered on the victorious teen as another assassin hopped in and started the next fight.

Kahleem's angry fist broke the man's nose as they tusseled and fought. Finally, the man left and the teen accepted praise from the villagers that had gathered to watch. He strode up to Altair and Malik, breathless and smirking.

"Well done, Kahleem," Malik said approvingly, "your leg seems to be causing you less pain."

"Thank you, Malik," he replied, dipping his sweaty head, "it is only thanks to you that it no longer bothers me." The two chatted a while before Malik dismissed himself, Kahleem picked up his white tunic from it's place over the ring's fence.

"How did I do, Master?" Kahleem's voice had that low, sexy edge as he called Altair by his title. He made sure to keep his voice to where only he and his partner could hear.

"Adequet," he replied softly, "come with me."

* * *

><p>The two assassins lay in a soft patch of grass about two miles away from Masyaf where Altair usually went to be on his own. He'd chosen this place because no one knew where it was. He was glad no one could find it; he'd taken his partner again and made a sticky mess of the earth below.<p>

"I love these," Kahleem murmured softly, his bruised hand plucking a lilac from it's place, "my mother had these growing all over the farm."

"You know, I don't know a thing about you," he laughed.

"You must be a whore," the teen snorted, "sleeping with a man you don't know."

"A boy," he corrected playfully, "you are only sixteen."

"How old are you, grandfather?" He jabbed, getting a flick to his still-sensitive nipple. "Ow!"

"Respect me, I'm still seven years your senior," Altair smirked, "I am twenty-three."

"Oh, and you are a man?" Kahleem shot back, rolling onto his nude partner. "You act like a screaming child when it comes to water."

The lighter-skinned man scoffed, giving the boy a half joking-half reprimanding slap to the rear. Kahleem's cheeks burned like the handprint that appeared there.

"Tell me about you," Altair inquired, letting his fingers dance along the other male's dark skin. "I am curious."

"There is not much to tell," he lied, "I do not remember much before we were taken to the concentration camp. I remember the flowers, that's about it."

He'd always been a cunning liar, it was always hard for one to decipher whether or not he was being truthful. On a rarity, he would lie to Altair, having found to reason before to keep the truth from him.

His past was painful, he did not like to remember it or reminisc, so he lied.

"Oh," Altair replied, then rolled himself over the boy, careful of his injured arm, "then tell me about you now."

"Me now?" Kahleem looked up at the man ontop of him, "well, the love of my life happens to be naked ontop of me, I find no shame in this."

"You are shameless?" Altair snorted, "then you must just be a greedy lover."

"Excuse me?"

"You do not indulge very often in things like this," he replied, "mostly when you please."

"If we did these things when you pleased, I would not be able to walk, talk or breathe, barely." Kahleem replied with a snort of his own, rolling the man off of him. "Not to mention, we would be caught for sure."

The older assassin glared with a huff.

* * *

><p>"I am begining to think your apprentice is as unruly as you, yourself, Altair," Abbas sneered, "he insults his opponents needlessly and fights dirty."<p>

"I think it is your own training that caused Farouk to lose," the silver-eyed man snapped, " your apprentice is twice as big and twice as fast as my own and neither leg is damaged, yet he lost. Your training is to be held accountable."

Farouk and Kahleem sat side by side on a bench as they watched their masters argue. Malik was currently treating a nasty cut along Kahleem's ribs.

"They have been fighting like this since Master Altair was a teenager," the Dai grumbled, "they have hated eachother forever."

"Altair's temper is beyond my understanding," Kahleem confessed with a sigh, watching his lover defend his honor. Farouk agreed with a chuckle.

"Master Abbas still has much to teach me," he admitted, "you could show me some things, you know."

"I just might," the teen replied, cursing as Malik's single hand pressed too roughly on the fresh wound. He scanned Altair's actions, predicting his words and then actions. This would end in a scuffle between the two. "Excuse me for a minute."

"You have always be-" Altair's shout at the fellow assassin was cut off as Kahleem tugged at his sleeve, "what."

"Let's go," Kahleem said, "I tire of the constant fighting, I wish to go on a walk."

"Fine," Altair snapped, allowing himself to be dragged away by his apprentice, throwing one last glare at Abbas.

The pair were soon hidden in a roof garden, Kahleem's hands fisted in Altair's open tunic. Their mouths were fused together, pants slowly getting tighter as the teen's lapdance gained fervor.

"Honestly, Altair," he grunted, "you need not defend me."

"As your mentor and partner, it is my duty and ch-choice," he replied, biting his lip as the teen's groin bucked into his own. The teen laughed softly, pressing another kiss to the scarred lips of his mentor.

"Shut your mouth, Altair," he said, "I think you only do it to look good and gain my affections."

"I see it is working," the man hissed, purposefully rubbing his hardened crotch at the other man's clothed behind. "Is it not?"

He recevied a snort, "like I said, shut your mouth." Kahleem ordered with a smirk, "it is going to ruin my mood."

* * *

><p>I really want to thank and appreciate all of my reviews or favorites and whatnot, here's just kind of a drabblefiller chapter that you might enjoy. I love hearing from you guys, so thanks so much. Next chapter will be up soon and the adventure will continue!


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